Mirror World
by amariys
Summary: Draco thinks of a Mirror World. Warnings: Kissing, some blood, minor cursing, major Character Death, self-edited. One-shoot complete.


**Title:** Mirror World

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Light Harry/Draco

**Summary:** Draco thinks of a Mirror World

**Warnings:** Kissing, some blood, minor cursing, major Character Death, self-edited.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and co. They belong to J.K Rowling and various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

Sometimes, when I see my reflection in the mirror, I will let my mind wanders. As I study the young man with platinum blonde hair which is always groomed meticulously perfect and eyes like molten silvers, my imagination will work out. Then, the sharp and high cheek-bones will be lifted as pouty red lips—too pouty to be a man's—morph into a very rare smile.

I will hold the smile before studying the reflection again. I look different. With a genuine smile replacing the usual hate sneer and mischievous, almost naughty twinkles on my otherwise ice cold eyes, I look … happy. Like a normal boy.

Something that a Malfoy isn't allowed to be. Malfoys are not _normal_.

Then I'll pretend that the world behind mirror exists. A world that is identical and yet so very different from _this_ world. I'll entertain myself that in that world, Draco Malfoy is a happy, normal boy. Draco Malfoy doesn't have to hide his true face, is allowed to show his emotions—allowed to be sad, happy, angry, jealous and even _loving_—instead of killing them mercilessly.

I'll imagine the mirror-Draco puts on his uniform hastily because he's late, like any normal teenagers, and in his haste, forgets to button his white shirt and of course, the tie is made very poorly. It's a total opposite to what I'm doing, straightening my already-straight-robes, with an underside shirt that fits perfectly on my body, and knotting my tie perfectly.

Mirror-Draco will, in my imagination, huffs at his bedside head and simply runs a hand through it, not bothering to put so many spells only to make sure there's not even one strand of hair out of place.

The mirror-me will grin at his reflection then—at me—and nods in satisfaction for all of his imperfection, for all the messy appearance he has managed to gain, before slinging his bag lazily over his shoulder and walking out of the door room—ready to face another normal day as a normal boy.

I'll stand there, in front of the mirror still. The smile falls from my face. Instead, my trademark sneer is taking its place again. I look at the reflection of a perfectly dressed young man with cold eyes and snarl, because for all the imperfections mirror Draco's shown, he is still perfectly normal. So very true, without any pretense covering his flaws—unlike me.

I envy him for that.

**xXXx**

I'll imagine the mirror world again whenever you bump against me at school. Of course, it's not always you who bump me first. Actually, most of the time it is I who bump you and then sneer.

Accusing you for something that is completely my fault is what I do almost every day.

You'll sneer back at me, of course. You are a Gryffindor and they are known for their quick temper. Even your house's colour indicates it. Red always makes people more aggressive.

I'll taunt you for your "Poor excuse of a sneer, even a baby can do better than that," in my perfect mocking tone. My friends will laugh and your friends will be outraged. I can see Weasley's face reddening dangerously and Granger looks like she will burst steam over her ears soon.

We never care about them though, do we? No. Whenever we meet, it almost like no one else matters. Sure, they are all around us, laughing, sneering, adding to the background noises—not music, because music is nice and their sounds are not—but that's what they are, right? Backgrounds. This is our play, where we are the main stars. I know it and you also know it.

Insulting Weasley gives me no thrill at all. He is too easily worked up it's not even worth it. I can simply greet him, without any bad intention at all, and his face will turn an ugly shade of red, accusing me for plotting something evil. What a laugh!

No, I'm always only attracted to you. You. No one else. At first, I don't even know why I bother. I suspect that it's because you are ignoring me. No Malfoys take ignorance well. As time passes by though, I start to question myself—is it really the reason? Just because you're ignoring me, I'm acting like a five year old with a temper tantrum. I realize then that there must be something else.

Then I'll get back to wondering about the mirror world. Every time we meet, we always confront each other. With each confrontation, I start to feel different. I think different. Whilst I usually think what insult will hurt you the most, now I think of how your eyes will blaze when they glare at me. When I'm supposed to think where I shall punch you, I realize how hard your muscles have changed instead. When I look down at you, I'm thinking of how fast you've grown, you're almost catching my height.

Above all that, though, I notice a small glimpse of amusement in your eyes whenever we insult each other. You make it almost like a banter—a silly banter between two friends who know each other best because they are so similar.

I'll wonder then, whether you also have your other-you in the mirror world. I like to imagine you do. Then … I dare hope that mirror-you and mirror-me are friends. Like what should have happened when we first met, when you rejected my friendship.

I usually imagine that when we are at class, History of Magic, actually. I will imagine you sitting beside me in the mirror world, complaining about the boring class—although maybe in the Mirror World, the class is interesting—or how you really hate Crabbe's snore.

I'll imagine mirror-me chuckling at your words, agreeing about the class and the snores and then telling you some random jokes. I hope mirror-me is funny. I like being funny with my wits.

What I really love to imagine is your smile, though. I thought that since mirror-you and mirror-me are friends, then you'll openly laugh at my joke, snicker at my silly bragging and chuckle at my embarrassment. Even here, in _this _world where we're not friends, I always love your smiles. I'm looking for your laughs, struggling to catch your chuckles.

Even here, where we are enemies, your happiness is always affecting me. So I imagine that in the mirror world, I'll always be very happy.

**xXXx**

When Father, Lucius, calls me to his study, I'll let my mind wanders to the mirror world silently. I'll keep my face blank and give responses at times, an act that has been mastered by all Malfoys since they were toddler. Occasionally I'll focus back to Lucius. I'll study him. People often say that I was a carbon copy of my father. They are wrong, though.

Although I look similar with Lucius from the first glance, but I actually am an exact carbon copy of my mother, Narcissa, except for the silver eyes. Lucius' blond hair is a shade darker than mine. Of course, with the light playing at them, it is a very difficult difference to be seen. There are still some more visible differences though, like my body is leaner than Lucius; my fingers are longer, like a pianist's fingers; my movements are gracefully flowing, like air, gentle and sometimes soothing while Lucius' movements are gracefully demanding, like water, strong and noticeable.

The biggest difference though is that I have my feelings still, just like my mother. I'm quite sure my father's feelings have long gone since the first time he bowed low to the Dark Lord.

That is another reason I love to wonder about the mirror world. I imagine there's nothing like Voldemort there. I imagine my father is ordinary, just like any fathers in the world. He will praise me when I got good scores, he won't be disgusted to hug me when I was a little boy. He won't push me to bow low to a madman and reduce myself into a slave.

I amuse myself by thinking that in the mirror world, my Father will love me. A total opposite from the real situation.

Then again, perhaps not everything is good in the mirror world. If everything is total opposite, then that means my mother will be despicable. No, I can't let that happen! Mother is someone whom I truly respect. People thought I respect Lucius, idolized him even. Yet, there's nothing more inaccurate than that.

I was forced to respect Lucius. Through fear. Through mind-numbing pain of Cruciatus Curse. Through my own ear-splitting scream. Only crazy people will actually idolize him. But only a crazier man dares to disobey him after so much pain.

Of course, thinking like that means that I think you are crazy—crazier than me, even. Who can blame me though? You really are insane with all of your courage. I can't even start to imagine how it feels to face a man that has killed your parents. How was it, dueling with the strongest Dark Lord alive when you were only a teenager? How could you keep your wits together when you were facing a Basilisk in a mere age of twelve?

Yes, you are crazy in my eyes. Yet, all of your craziness just attracts me even more.

Sometimes, I really hope mirror world exists—I will trade anything in prospect to be friend with you—but sometimes, I'm glad it doesn't.

Yes, I contradict myself. That's what makes me intriguing for you, isn't it?

**xXXx**

When I read, though, I forget about the mirror world. It doesn't matter what book I read, it'll always hold my full attention. You see, I really love to read. I long for new knowledge, especially about Potion, Charms, and Runes. Yes, I do study, unlike your assumption that I bribe the professors to get my marks.

I've probably read as much books as Granger has, if not more since I have more connections to get rare books than her.

I lose myself in the book once I'm reading. I have no time to worry about my surroundings, much less about an imaginary world. Maybe that's why I often spend my time at the library. Every free time, my friends know where to find me. I even skip dinner sometimes, only because I've found an interesting book.

My friends never bother me once I enter library. Crabbe and Goyle certainly are allergic to book and knowledge, so there's no way they will follow me there and the other Slytherins know it's useless to accompany me since I'll immediately lost in my own world, not responding to whatever they said.

That's why it takes me by surprise when someone suddenly yanks the book I'm currently reading away from me.

"Hey! What—" my complain dies in my throat once I see that _you _are the one who steals the book.

You have frown on your face as you read the book title, do you know that? Your nose wrinkles so slightly, almost as if you don't believe anyone will ever want to read that book.

"Advance Potion, Extreme Potions for Masters." You mumble, reading the title out loud while raising an eyebrow to me. Your green eyes shine with amusement. I just can't stand not teasing you when you give me such a blatant challenge like that.

"What," I drawl lazily, my usual smirk ready on place. "just because you don't have enough brain to read it, doesn't mean nobody can't, Potty. I, unlike you, am very capable of making potion after all."

You actually surprise me when you reply my smirk with one of your own. "Git." You mutter, but that word holds no venom at all. "No wonder you are Snape's favourite student. Although, I still can't see why anybody will want to stay for such a long time making stinky and gooey concoction." You wrinkle your nose in disgust again and I must fight to keep my smile hidden.

"You just say that because you're jealous that I'm better at Potion than you." I answer nonchalantly. I hear you snort disbelievingly and can't help but to glare. I straighten my back, ready to confront you seriously this time.

"So what are you doing here alone, Potty? Where are your sidekicks?"

You shrug, completely unaffected by my glare and I sneer hatefully at you. "Don't sneer at me like that, Malfoy. Honestly, I do wonder if you could make out any other expressions other than that, sometimes." You sigh and sit down on the chair right across mine.

I scowl. "Who gives you permission to sit there, Scar-head?" I sneer. You certainly have lots of nerves, sitting there and relaxing like we are friends!

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy. This is a library. I don't need anyone's permission to sit."

"You need it if you're going to sit across from me." I reply in a hiss. Sometimes you can bring the worst out of me without even trying, you know that? Simple remarks from you and then I'll be very mad. You don't care though. You never care about anything that I said and I don't know why, but it hurts. Merlin, it hurts so much that I can hate you more just because of that.

"Well then, if you said so, may I sit here, Malfoy?" You ask me, but your voice and your eyes turn it into a challenge. What you mean to say is, "Are you afraid if I sit here?" and I know exactly why you said it like that. I never can back down from a challenge, especially not one from you.

"I'd rather not be disturbed by your moronic actions and stupid bed head actually, Potty." I snap. Your eyes narrow dangerously now and I can almost see your temper rising. Ah, so the Gryffindor is still short-tempered after all. Nothing like the cool snake.

You let out a small sigh, almost unrecognizable if I am not watching you so closely. Your eyes shine with … unexpected disappointment that quickly being replaced with anger and I feel my heart shatters … again. "Whatever, Malfoy. You're such a git. I wonder why I bother."

I can only watch as you stand up brusquely, your hands are fisted until your knuckles are white but you shove them deep into your pockets where no one can see how hard you control yourself.

But what are you controlling yourself for, Potter? Are you restraining yourself from hitting me? From yelling at me? Or is it something else?

I can feel my temper starts to arise too. I don't know why, but you make me feel humiliated by without reasons. I stand up and, before knowing it, I am shouting at you.

"Yes, you shouldn't bother with me, Potter! After all, I'm just a junior Death Eater am I not? I'm totally worthless compared to the Saviour, am I not?!" I can hear myself chuckling without humour. "Oh Mighty Potty, you just can't help it when you see a poor, misguided child like me, can you? You are hoping you can take me to your side, fighting the Dark Lord. You are hoping I will leave my family so easily just to help you doing what is right,"

You are turning around now, green eyes blazing dangerously as magic swirls around you. You are always so powerful, you know? You can't control your power, though. That's why it's swirling so dangerously … so _beautifully_ around you whenever you're mad—just like now.

"Malfoy…"

Your voice is a mere hiss of the dangerous snake, a warning for a fool like me. I ignore it. Just like you who never care about what I said, I will not give a knut to what you said either.

"Well you know what, Potty? Tough shite! I will not do it! I will not abandon my family just to save the Wizarding World because you know what? I don't care about the world without my family. I don't think you can understand, though. After all, you never know what FAMILY feels like, do you?!"

I know I overstep the border almost as soon as I say that, but I never actually realize when you're moving. Next thing I know, my head bumps against something hard and the sound of books falling from the shelf can be heard around me. I shut my eyes with a hiss. A dull throb is starting at the back of my head and I feel a little bit dizzy.

"Shut your trap, Malfoy," you hiss so lowly and yet, I feel fear runs along my body by that sound. "You do not know anything about me. You do not know anything about what I want, so you can shut your trap now about all of your self-pity and petty assumption because you know what? You worth nothing. NOTHING at all. You and your family. You all are beyond redemption and I don't even know how I can think otherwise."

Your green eyes pierce into my silver ones. They are so bright, but from this close, I can see small flecks of brown contaminating the green. Ah, so your eyes aren't truly your mother eyes at all. Your father is also shown there.

"If I do worth nothing, then why are you still here…?" my voice is a mere whisper. I don't know why I bother to lower my voice since if Madame Pince has not come to throw us out yet when you throw me against a book shelf, it can only mean that you are casting a Silencing Charm—wandless and wordless Silencing Charm. Really, it's unfair how powerful you can be.

Something flickers in your eyes and your hands loosen slightly. "I don't know." You murmur. "I don't know why. Maybe I just don't want to kill you. The thought of you, on the other side of war … the thought of me, holding and pointing my wand to you on the Final Battle … Killing curse on our lips…" your voice broke and you take a shaky breath.

I see you then. Truly seeing you. Do you want to know what I see? I don't see a man who can save our world. I don't see a hero. I see a boy; a small boy who is torn by responsibility. A boy who wants nothing of his role, yet unable to escape from it. I see myself in you. I see Harry behind the Hero.

"We can't escape though, Harry." I whisper.

Your eyes widen as you stare at me. Astonished by my usage of your first name, I guess. I give you a small smile, because just this time … just this _one _time, I'd rather think this is the mirror world where I can show you all of my feelings. No more hiding, no more masks.

"We can't escape from our fate, Harry," I continue, hands moving up to cup your face so tenderly. "You will beat the Dark Lord. I will become a Death Eater. We will fight each other. That is our fate." You close your eyes, almost like you want to block the words out. "But Harry … if I have to die, I want to die by your hands, by your wand."

"My life is an expensive thing, Potter. No one deserves to take it. No one … except for you."

A tear runs down your face, Harry. Do you know that it hurts me when I see that? You're so beautiful and yet … you're holding such a big responsibility that it breaks you. Can't your friends see it, Harry? Can't they see that you're breaking? Maybe they see it, but you just can't let them in, can you? Because they won't understand … because they are not being pushed by the same responsibility.

"Harry Potter, promise me." I tilt your chin with my index finger. Your green eyes—glassy because of the tears—beg me to do something … anything. I just smile, for as vulnerable as you are, Harry, I don't think I've ever seen you stronger than this. "Promise me, Harry Potter, that you won't let anyone but you to take my life."

You open your mouth. I can see you trying to object it but then your eyes lift to meet mine. You stare into my eyes, entering my soul and searching whatever answer you need to reach your decision. Then, finally you sigh.

Your forehead touches mine when you whisper, "I promise," with such a broken voice I can't help but cry silently.

**xXXx**

I close my eyes. I'm so tired. My wand is thrown and maybe snapped somewhere. The sky is dark, the ground cold and muddy as rain falls and washes everything away—the blood, especially. I smile sardonically. Even the Nature gives such an appropriate setting for the Final Battle.

Dark clouds and raging storms are present just like in the movie cliché while hundreds of wizards and witches battle against each other. The smell of flesh burning, the pained screams, and the sight of blood … it all makes a strange harmony here.

The most beautiful and scariest thing, though, is the green light. It flashes everywhere. I must have lost my mind when I actually think the green flash of Avada Kedavra as a beautiful firecracker. I chuckle slightly and immediately cough soon after. Blood drips to my chin, falling towards my robe, but it doesn't matter. My robe is black and even it has changed colour from the amount of blood that stains it.

My stomach is gaping. A Slashing curse. I don't even know who cast it. It might be Aurors or even my _fellow _Death Eaters. It doesn't matter, though, because they haven't taken my life yet. _He_ hasn't broken his promise yet.

He will never break his promise. I know that.

"Malfoy? Oh Merlin, no. Malfoy? Malfoy?!"

Ah … see? I know he will never break his promise.

I open my eyes and his scar is the first thing I see. How ironic. He is kneeling beside me, lifting my head gently and placing it on his lap. His face is dirty with blood and mud and soot. There is blood dripping from his cheek and his glasses are crooked. I do wonder how it can still be in place.

"Malfoy?! Come on! Don't die!"

He sounds so scared … so afraid. For what, though? This is my Fate, Harry. I've told you so. You sappy Gryffindor should have learn to look at the reality by now, shouldn't you?

"Wait, Malfoy … Snape gave me potions, for emergency. I think I still have one left. Please don't die yet, please…"

You are rambling, Harry. Silly Gryffindor, always caring too much about other people.

"…ry…" I can't even speak properly, how shameful. I lift a shaky hand to touch your face. It's quite an effort and, soon after, my hand falls back, having not enough strength to keep it lifted.

"keep … promise." I hope you understand.

I watch you closely and can tell the exact moment you understand what I mean. Your eyes widen and what colour left on your face is gone. You are as pale as a dead body now. Maybe almost as pale as me.

… Heh, it's a bad joke.

"No, no Malfoy. You're not going to die! I- I can't keep that promise! No…"

Oh no, Harry. You do. You can keep the promise. I'm sure you can.

I stare into your green eyes. My lips aren't moving from their small smile. I know you will be able to keep the promise. You just need a moment to defeat your denial.

"Malfoy … D-Draco…"

Ah, you sneaky little bastard. How dare you using my first name at this time. That's worthy a Slytherin, Harry.

"Draco … I … I'm so sorry…"

Warm lips descend to mine. I can taste the salty tears from you and I don't think it's bad even though it is going to be the last thing I taste.

"I lo … ve you, Har … ry." I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't let go before I tell you that. I'm so sorry.

Your eyes are closed when you point your wand at me. I can see tears running freely on your cheeks and then I can see the tip of your wand glowing green. Ah … so the firecracker will begin soon. I wish it'll be pretty.

"…Avada Kedavra."

The firecracker goes off.

—**End.**


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